


Comfort Blankets

by TheConsultingStepladder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Couple, Parentlock, Sherlock is a Good Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheConsultingStepladder/pseuds/TheConsultingStepladder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Me and my good friend daleks were talking about this adorable post,<br/> <br/><b>"the holmes-watson baby has a blankie that it carries around everywhere and it’s the woowoo now imagine the blankie getting lost and sherlock in his sherlock voice asking his crying 2yo “where is your woowoo”</b></p>
<p>and I began ficcing over Facebook and well one thing led to another.</p>
<p>I hope you enjoy, I had a lot of fun with it!</p>
<p>  <b>Post source - http://syupon.tumblr.com/post/97414398622</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Blankets

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The taxi's tyres squealed as it drove away on the icy road leaving a very rumpled and tired looking doctor standing on the pavement.

John fumbled for his keys with shaking fingers, the brisk morning air chilling him to his core.

He sighed gratefully as the door swung open under his hand and a flush of hot air billowed out. Sleep was the only thing on his mind as he drew the door shut, the warmth surrounding him making even the stairs look comfortable enough to kip on.  
Rubbing a hand across one bleary eye, he pulled himself upwards clinging to the banister. Reaching the fifth step he heard a soft noise that made his stomach drop.

Hamish was crying.

Huffing an irritated breath out of his nose he threw himself up the last few stairs before striding through the front door of the flat to assess the situation.  
The source of his son's crying was not immediately apparent as his son wasn't at all visible.

“Hamish, Sherlock?”

His call was answered by a long, dark figure shuffling down the stairs from the nursery, with a bundle of wailing baby in his arms.

“Welcome home, how was the late shift?,” the taller man asked with no real concern or interest.

John replied, though he knew the man paid no attention, “Hellish. I was hoping to get a couple of hours when I got back but erm...” he gestured towards the screeching child.

“No, go to bed. You need to sleep. I'll deal with this.”

The doctor opened his mouth to argue but only a yawn escaped. Defeated by fatigue, he quietly toed off his shoes, hung up his jacket and padded into their bedroom.

Ten minutes or so and John was curled up in the large bed, duvet under his chin and eyes half lidded. He listened to the faint sounds of Sherlock walking around the living room with a still sobbing Hamish under his arm, occasionally shushing him gently and moving furniture around.  
He tossed and turned for a few more minutes before deciding he could not sleep amongst the noise unless he had a hot drink in him and maybe some sleeping tablets.

Throwing the covers off, he grabbed Sherlock's dressing gown from the bottom of the bed and made his way into the living room.

The detective was nearly bent double looking intently under his chair, small curly-haired child still dripping snot and tears onto his shoulder.  
Hamish let out another wail and Sherlock bounced him gently under his arm before he purred, 

“Where is it Hamish?”

The baby replied with a small squeak.

“Shh now, where is your woo woo?”

John held in a giggle. He knew the man hadn't noticed him standing there.

Hamish's 'woo woo' was the soft grey blanket he received from Sherlock's mother as a Christmas gift and Hamish practically lived inside it. He dragged it across the floor when he played and nuzzled up to it when he was sleeping in his cot.

The fact that he was inconsolable without it was not a surprise to John.

Watching his long time partner, however, who scoffs simply at John referring to his own son as 'Mish and despised most forms of baby talk.  
To hear that man refer to a blanket as a 'woo woo' made his heart shatter and form a warm, molten sensation in his chest.

Sherlock was still rummaging through drawers and moving piles of paperwork around when he noticed John standing there.

“I thought you were in bed.”  
“Just getting a drink and some tablets. You ok there?”

The latter blew out an exasperated breath. “He's lost it, I've got no idea where it is and I'm a detective for god's sake.”

“Hah, poor thing, he must be beside himself. I'll help you look.”

A large hand pressed against his chest. “ You will not. You will go back to bed and sleep and be right as rain for us tomorrow.”

John wrapped his hand around the one holding him back and nodded. “Alright, you're right. I am shattered, sorry.”

He shuffled into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle, filling a small mug with a sachet of malted milk and grabbing a box of tablets out of the cupboard.  
The ruckus behind him was getting louder by the second and sounding ever more frantic and frustrated until he finally heard Hamish's softened cries once again become wails of despair that the taller man was finding impossible to quiet down. 

“Oh for god's sake, John have you seen this damn woo woo!?”

John couldn't stop.  
The laughter burst from him before he could reign himself in.

Sherlock's head sprang up to stare at him and he flushed immediately. 

“I mean.... the blanket...”

The shorter man nodded through the tears in his eyes, “No, god, I haven't seen it.”

Biting his lip, he quickly made his drink and hurried back into the bedroom without making eye contact.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eyelids opening slowly, he surveyed the room around him.

It was later in the day for certain but seemed to be reaching the throes of mid morning.  
He stretched languidly and sat up, his body still crying out for sleep but not aching with the weariness of before.  
The noises in the living room had stopped and since the bed remained empty bar himself he thought he'd better check on the situation.

The living room was empty and the lights were off. Signs of the search still remained in overturned papers and ornaments on the floor instead of their designated spots on the shelves.

Glancing in the kitchen, he found it just as bare. Softly, he moved upwards into his old bedroom, now a nursery for his son.

No noise emitted from the room, Hamish was definitely asleep then, otherwise he'd be still be crying or at least gurgling. Quietly he pushed open the door and flicked the switch on the small lamp inside.

The soft glow that emanated from it showed him first an empty cot and then a full bed.  
A single bed, all that remained of his old room layout was currently occupied by dark curly heads, one tiny and round, snoring softly and the other lanky and pale curled around the former and stroking his cheek softly.

John's couldn't contain the smile that spread across his face, warming his cheeks with pride.

He saw the soft edge of the woo woo grasped in Hamish's hand and stepped towards the two. As he did pale irises met his and a tired face smiled back at him gently.

They spoke in hushed voices,

“You found it then.”  
“ Mmm.”  
“Where was it?”  
“Coat pocket. Mine. Must've put it there when we were in the park on Tuesday.”

John slid himself softly onto the bed next to the boys. He smoothed his hand over his husband's head and felt the man lean back against his palm.

“You're so good with him, love. I didn't know how you'd deal with it all at first.”  
“Cant blame you. Human interaction isn't my strong point.”  
“You seem fine when it comes to him.”

Sherlock looked down at their child, his eyes creased at the edges. “Babies aren't people, John. Not yet anyway.”

The doctor shuffled onto the other side of the bed, taking care to not shake it too much and curled around his partner, pressing his front against a warm back.  
He nuzzled his face into the crease of his neck and kissed him softly there, before peering over his cheek at the gentle face of his son.

“You'd think,” he cooed, “that he wouldn’t need that thing with both of us here for him.”

“Separation anxiety.” the other man returned, “Humans can find solace in anything they please. Imagine the one thing you find the most comfort in going missing. You panic, you wonder if you'll ever feel secure without it.”

“Sounds like you can relate.” John mused as he slid his hand around his husband's chest.

There was a gentle pause between them before Sherlock spoke, his voice soft.

“I can. I've lost it many times. That's why now, I hold onto mine as closely and as tightly as I can allow myself to.”

John blinked in confusion until he felt a warm hand cover his own and squeeze gently.  
Overwhelmed, he breathed out roughly, the burst of affection he felt for the man shaking him slightly and he squeezed back until the sleep he had needed finally came and all three members of the Holmes-Watson family had fallen into snug and peaceful dreams.


End file.
